SWAINS LOCK (The River Trilogy, book 1) (15 page)

From under the desk she withdrew a framed
photograph. On the wall to the right of the archway, a photo of a
blossoming cherry tree hung at eye level. She took it down and hung
the picture from beneath her desk in its place, then studied the
new image. Would it be enough? It had been almost ten weeks since
she’d seen the tracks around the sycamores at Carderock. They
hadn’t come from the parking lot nearby, but from the Billy Goat
Trail below. And the snow had been cleared from every inch of the
railing-boards. It must have been Vin – she hadn’t mentioned the
spot to anyone else. Bryce might have heard her statement at the
party but wouldn’t have understood the allusion. The clue led
nowhere, but she’d needed to know whether the hook had been set.
Ten weeks ago it apparently had been. Was it still? She hoped so,
since she couldn’t find the truth without him.

***

Vin parked near the narrow storefront of the
Thomas, Ainge Photography Studio. It was Monday, so the lot at the
Potomac mall was only half full. Falling in step beside Nicky, he
felt the reassuring sun of imminent spring. Daffodil shoots were
peeking from the planter boxes fringing the lot and the pungent
smell of mulch suffused the air.

A meeting with a wedding photographer and a
chance to size up Kelsey Ainge – two birds with one stone, he
thought. Three weeks ago they’d finally settled on October 19 as
the wedding date. That would give Nicky’s parents a week at home
after they returned from two months in Tokyo. The outdoor venue
they wanted was available, so they had written a check for the
downpayment. Next they’d found an officiant who was comfortable
with the service they were planning.

And now they needed to pick a photographer.
They’d already met Joel Bettancourt and liked his wedding
portfolio, but Kelsey Ainge had good client references and Nicky
agreed they should see her work as well. Vin still had the business
card she’d given him at their house last fall. And now he saw its
puzzling tagline printed in green on the studio door: Today Made
Timeless. He followed Nicky in.

An entryway table held business cards and a
vase filled with spring hyacinths. The front half of the studio was
configured as a gallery, with framed photos hung on a central
partition and the windowless walls. Track lights illuminated the
artwork.

He couldn’t see anyone in the gallery, but
there was an archway at the far end and a back room behind it.
Nicky sidestepped along the partition, pausing to study each image.
Vin walked down to the arch. The back room was an office and Kelsey
was standing next to a desk in the corner, wearing a cardigan
sweater and listening to a prototypical Potomac matron:
50-something, bouffant hair, knee-length leather boots, garish
rings.

Kelsey made eye contact and held up a finger
for Vin to indicate she’d be finished soon. He rejoined Nicky, who
was examining a photo of a bride and groom feeding each other cake,
arms entwined. It was shot from an intermediate angle in black and
white.

“I like the perspective of this shot,” Nicky
said. “And the fact that it’s black and white. It makes it look…”
She hesitated for a second.

“Timeless?” Vin offered.

“I don’t know. Maybe ‘classic’ is a better
word.”

He nodded and put his arm around her waist.
Her hair smelled like lilacs. They edged down the partition,
studying the wedding photos. Vin was glad that their own plans were
finally taking shape. And the process of nailing things down seemed
to have lifted Nicky’s spirit over the last six weeks. The days
following their ill-starred snowshoeing trip had been dismal. She
had seemed distant and depressed, almost inscrutable for a while,
and he had grudgingly buried himself in the Rottweiler project. At
least he’d managed to get the company to sign off on phase one and
accept the invoice he’d sent. And then both he and Nicky had come
up for air at the same time. After all the snow disappeared in late
January. After the ensuing flood.

It was his idea to fly to Arizona in
mid-February for a week with her parents. They’d been able to hike
every day in desert sunshine, and Vin had watched Nicky transform
back into the person he’d spent six weeks with in the Rockies last
summer. The woman he’d fallen in love with the previous autumn in
Boston. Spending time with Nicky’s parents, they’d been able to
work through the logistical issues and agree on an October wedding
date.

The wheels had kept turning after they flew
home from Arizona. This morning they had dropped off their “save
the date” card design at the print shop. The invitation list was
mostly done, so they could probably get the cards mailed within the
next week or so. At that point there would be no turning back.

And while his career planning wasn’t quite
on the same trajectory, he knew that Nicky had grown more
comfortable with his consulting situation. Rottweiler had paid him
for phase one and he’d recently submitted a proposal for phase two.
Phase three would probably last into the fall, so it didn’t make
sense to look for a job until after the wedding. The truth was that
he’d become attached to the flexibility of working at home; it
allowed him to go for a bike ride on a short winter day or take
Randy for a run on the towpath before it got dark. Or spend a few
hours at the library, though he hadn’t done that recently. That
might be another reason Nicky seemed more relaxed. She thought his
“treasure hunt” – his fascination with Lee Fisher’s note and the
1924 event at Swains Lock – was ebbing or over.

On the surface it appeared she was right,
but deep down Vin wasn’t sure. He knew that the words in Lee’s note
had infected him, and that though the virus might be in remission,
it wasn’t entirely gone. Joined sycamores, Lee Fisher, K. Elgin,
Emmert Reed’s albino mule… the money, the killers, the dead. His
interest had waned because he’d run out of ideas and into dead
ends. And it was harder now for him to fish the note for insight
because a question had been lobbed into the limpid waters of the
pool, creating waves that made submerged objects harder to see.
“Why are you here?” It was as if the question was a clue itself,
arrayed alongside the others.

“Good white mules are really hard to find.”
Vin was startled from his reverie. Kelsey had approached so quietly
that he hadn’t noticed her. She was looking over their shoulders at
a color shot of a bride’s silk hemline, with tanned legs and
pedicured feet extending from a white folding chair into lush
grass. The bride wore white, backless shoes with open toes and
crossing straps. One foot was halfway out of its shoe and the shoe
had capsized in the grass.

“I’m sure they are,” Nicky said. “Those are
gorgeous, but we’re getting married in October, so I don’t they
would work for me.”

“A little too summery,” Kelsey agreed. She
led them back through the archway to the office area and offered
seats at the circular table. Vin put his folded sunglasses on the
tabletop while Nicky asked if Kelsey was available on October 19.
Kelsey said she was, then asked standard questions about the
wedding size, venue, and time of day.

Vin surveyed the room as Nicky answered.
There were L-shaped desks on each side, with their vertices in the
back corners. Landscape photos and nature shots hung on all the
walls, and waist-high bookcases girded the front half of the room.
In response to something Nicky had said, Kelsey walked over to a
bookcase, pulled out an album, and brought it to the table.

“I loved this wedding,” she said, “and what
you’re describing reminds me of it.” She oriented the album and
Nicky studied the photos on the first page.

“The stone house is beautiful.”

“It was at an old estate that had been
converted into a vineyard. The reception was in a barn the owners
had turned into a tasting room, and there was a huge patio with a
view down the hillside and out over the vines.”

Nicky rotated the album to give Vin a better
viewing angle. When they’d finished reviewing it, Kelsey slid a
glossy data sheet across the table that laid out the parameters of
her wedding packages. As Nicky read them and Vin scanned sideways,
Kelsey rose to answer the phone. Vin watched her glide to her desk.
Very cat-like.

He stood up and was drawn to a photo on the
far wall of a great blue heron standing in a shallow bog. “Heron –
Dierssen Waterfowl Sanctuary” was written in pencil under the
print. A nearby color shot showed a seven-arch stone bridge
spanning a tranquil body of water, the late-afternoon sun imparting
a pinkish hue to the stones. It was titled “Monocacy Aqueduct –
Chesapeake and Ohio Canal.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Nicky had joined him.
“Do you think we should get a quote?”

“Sure – knowledge saves.” They turned as
Kelsey approached, apologizing for the interruption. Nicky said
they’d like an estimate based on her standard package, so Kelsey
took down their mailing address.

“It sounds like you have a vision for the
event,” she said, “which I always hope for when I talk to couples
about a wedding. It’s important to know what you want,” she added,
turning toward Vin, “and to know why you’re here.”

He smiled tightly, canine teeth pressed to
his lower lip, and glanced over her shoulder at his sunglasses
lying on the table.

“Thanks for your time,” Nicky said.

“I enjoyed it,” Kelsey said. “I’ll be in
touch.”

Vin followed Nicky back to the archway, then
stepped sideways to examine the picture hanging beside it. It was a
close-up of a sunlit stone block in a scarred old wall. The block’s
gray face was stained with patches of white and pale-green lichen,
and the branching shadow of a sapling curved across an upper
corner. Its right side helped form the edge of the wall. Carved
into the block was a symbol he had seen before.

He felt suddenly lightheaded as he
remembered where. In the old shed, on the plank that had guarded
the drill, the photo, and Lee Fisher’s note. He leaned closer to
read the penciled words below the image. “Mason’s Mark – Bear
Island”. He shot a quick glance back toward Kelsey but she was on
the phone again, staring down at her desk. He plunged through the
archway to catch up with Nicky.

She was reviewing the photos on the other
side of the partition. On the way to the car, they compared what
Kelsey had shown them with what they’d seen from Joel Bettancourt.
Vin was neutral and Nicky liked Kelsey’s work a little better, so
price might be the deciding factor. As he was backing out of their
parking spot, Vin braked and looked at Nicky.

“I forgot my sunglasses. I must have left
them in her office.”

Nicky sighed disapprovingly. “At least you
realized it before we got home.”

He double-parked and hopped out, leaving the
engine running, and jogged to the studio door. When he reached the
archway, Kelsey was off the phone. She looked up from her desk as
he entered. “I thought you might be back.”

“I forgot my sunglasses,” he said with a
smile that vanished instantly. He retrieved them and circled toward
her desk, squinting at her in silence for a second. “And I forgot
to tell you something.”

She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“Be careful on the Billy Goat Trail below
Carderock. There’s a bridge out.”

“I’d heard about that.”

“And the warning sign is poorly placed.”

Her gray-green eyes flitted left and right,
steadied.

He gestured to the photo beside the archway.
“That’s an interesting picture,” he said tersely. “A mason’s
mark?”

She nodded. “That’s what a park ranger
called it when I showed it to him.”

“It reminds me of a symbol a friend of mine
showed me once. Maybe you know him. Lee Fisher.” She gave a
thoughtful look and shook her head. He searched for a hint of
uncertainty or guilt but couldn’t find one. “One more question,” he
said. “Is there something you want from me?”

She stood up and leaned her thigh against
the top of her desk, regarding him calmly. “I want you to find what
you’re looking for.”

“That’s funny. I was starting to get the
opposite impression.”

He turned to leave but pivoted in the
archway. “I just thought of something my friend Lee once said: ‘be
careful you don’t share my fate.’ You might run into those words in
a library book sometime.”

“That’s good advice,” she said with a smile
that reinforced his suspicions. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Chapter 12
Falling

Tuesday, March 19, 1996

Vin walked past the Great Falls Visitor
Center and onto the footbridge across the top of Lock 20. It was a
cool and windswept morning, so today there was no ranger delivering
a long-winded lecture on the workings of the canal. He stopped to
study the reddish-brown stone blocks that formed the walls of the
lock. Their faces were pockmarked and discolored by sediment and
moss, but he saw no mason’s marks.